Wells, Welles and the Doctor
by RapidEyeMovement
Summary: When legendary writer H.G. Wells and filmmaker extraordinaire Orson Welles meet by chance one day, they become fast friends and discover they have a mutual acquaintance.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Doctor Who_ it belongs to the BBC. H.G. Wells and Orson Welles were real people, so obviously I don't own them either. Apologies for any inaccuracy in my portrayal of them, no harm was intended. Incidentally, I don't own San Antonio either, nor have I ever been there so, again, apologies for inaccuracies. There, I think I've covered myself from every angle. No lawsuits today.

**Introduction: **H.G. Wells and Orson Welles really did meet in San Antonio, Texas sometime after Welles' infamous broadcast of _The War of the Worlds_. I was shocked to discover that there is very little information on this surely legendary encounter and it has never been dramatised in any form of media. Until now. I suddenly realised that the Doctor had encountered both men on separate occasions (see **Continuity Notes** at the end) and a fanfic was born. The duo appeared on San Antonio radio together in October of 1940, so I have used this as a timeframe as there was shockingly little information on their actual meeting. Enjoy.

**WELLS, WELLES AND THE DOCTOR**

**San Antonio, Texas**

**October, 1940**

Herbert George Wells was lost in unfamiliar terrain. _I might as well be on Mars_, he thought jokingly to himself as he drove down the strange Texan streets. It was still quite warm, despite the time of year, but not terribly so; more a clammy, stuffy warmth that he had found to be common in what was once called the New World.

He had been keeping in touch with George and Frank, his sons, who had informed him it was typically cold and dreary back in Britain. Apparently, German air raids were getting worse back home. Just a few weeks ago, Saint Paul's Cathedral in London had been pierced by a bomb. It was a terrifying thought. Herbert let out a sigh as he thought about it. It looked as though the purely fictitious "War in the Air" that he had predicted back in 1907 was coming true. He just hoped that it would all end soon, without much more loss of life.

For the moment, he would just try and figure out where he was.

"It's no good," he said to himself. "I shall have to ask someone." He wondered when he had begun talking to himself. Could it be that writing a book about a man who was invisible had made him paranoid? Or was it just another sign of old age? He chuckled to himself over such thoughts.

It was about ten o'clock in the morning, so there weren't many people about, but Herbert spotted a man sitting on a nearby bench, reading a newspaper.

The bench was too far away from the kerb for Herbert to shout. At least, he wasn't going to attempt it anyway. The man on the bench might be used to it, what with living in the remarkably impolite American South, but Herbert would maintain his British civility. He parked the car by the kerb and got out. He needed to stretch his legs anyway; he wasn't as young as he used to be, and it was getting a bit too stuffy in the car. _One day_, he thought as he strolled over to the bench, _they'll invent an in-car cooling system_. He shook his head at such optimistically futuristic thinking which earned him his reputation and his living.

"Excuse me," he said to the man, who still had his head buried in the newspaper.

The man began chuckling at something in the paper. He looked up at Herbert. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. He spoke in a distinctive, deep, almost warbling voice. "It's just, that little tramp Charlie Chaplain is making a film about a fascist dictator. Obviously a jab at Mr. Hitler over the pond. Should be good."

"Indeed," said Herbert. "I'm sorry; do I know you from somewhere? You seem very familiar."

The man folded his newspaper and stood, extending his hand. "You may have seen my face in the papers. Orson Welles – 'the biggest practical joker in America'."

Herbert shook his hand with a grin. The young actor had obviously not recognised him. "Ah yes," said Herbert. "I did read about you in the newspaper. _The War of the Worlds_ programme."

"That's right," said Orson. "The Night That Panicked America. That was me. I didn't think that they had heard about it over in Britain. I assume from your accent you _are_ British, yes?"

"Oh, yes, yes, quite. And yes, we heard all about your Halloween prank. Or at least _I_ did. And might I say, Mr. Welles, despite all the panic and chaos you supposedly caused, I thought it was jolly marvellous."

"Well at least that's _one_ person," said Orson. "Thank you very much for saying so. Are you a big fan of H.G. Wells?"

Herbert couldn't help but grin. "You might say that. Although I think some of his newer stuff isn't quite, er, 'up to speed' as you Americans would say."

"Oh, I don't know. I think he's still got it."

"Really? What's your favourite?"

Orson chuckled. "You wouldn't be going fishing for compliments now, would you, Mr. Wells?"

Herbert was taken aback by the use of his name. He was sure that Orson hadn't recognised him. He nodded his head in defeat of his ruse. "When did you figure out who I was?" he asked.

"I'll admit I didn't know straight away. But as we were talking I realised it was you."

"Yes, I suppose I have gotten on a bit since my last public photograph was taken."

"Nonsense, Mr. Wells. You have simply gotten more dignified with age."

And so, the legendary old science-fiction writer and the young, up-and-coming HollywoodRenaissance manbecame fast friends. They eventually found their way to a nearby diner to have breakfast.

* * *

"We've just finished up shooting of a film," Orson was telling Herbert. "It's in post-production stages now."

"And you say you wrote it, directed it, produced it _and_ you're starring in it?"

"That's right."

"You're a man of many talents, my boy. What is this film about then?"

Orson held his hands dramatically above the table. In his most theatrical voice, he said, "Multimillionaire newspaper tycoon Charles Foster Kane lies dying in his extravagant mansion home. Before he dies, he utters one final word: 'Rosebud'. Reporter Jerry Thompson is determined to discover the meaning behind this word. As he investigates into Kane's past, he discovers a man of mystery and intrigue."

Herbert realised that he had been holding his breath; Orson's speech was just so gripping. "My," he said. "Sounds like it'll be terribly good, Orson. Oh, er, what's it called?"

"Well, we're still debating the title. We're thinking of simply calling it… _American_."

"Hmm. Well, I for one cannot wait until it's out back in England."

"Just you wait, Herbert, it'll be a blast. Unlike anything you've ever seen before."

They continued eating in silence a few moments.

"Orson," said Herbert. "Tell me, did people really believe that Martians were invading that Halloween night two years ago?"

Orson chuckled. "Oh yes, Herbert. They genuinely believed it." He leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, despite the fact there was only the middle-aged waitress and the fat chef behind the counter and a man in a black jacket sitting in the corner eating quietly. "You know what else, Herbert? They weren't far off it," he said quietly.

Herbert's lips slowly curled into a smile, but then he seen the seriousness in his new friend's eyes. "I'm sorry, Orson," he said. "I'm getting on a bit these days. It sounds like you're saying that there really _were_ aliens invading that night."

Orson's gaze did not waver. "Is it really so hard to believe, Herbert? You yourself have written about stranger things. Is the existence of aliens really more difficult to believe than invisibility, or time travel?"

"If only you knew…" whispered Herbert.

"On October 31st, 1938, just after we had finished the programme, the panic started up. It was pandemonium in the streets. People were running here and there screaming, thinking that the Martian death rays were going to disintegrate them, when all the while a genuine alien spacecraft was poised and ready to attack."

Herbert listened quietly to what Orson had to say. As his young friend had said, he himself had written, and experienced, stranger things. Was it finally time to share his experience of travelling to another world? He hadn't even told Amy when she was alive, something he regretted even today.

"How do you know this?" he asked Orson.

"A few hours after the panic started, a strange man showed up out of nowhere. He called himself 'the Doctor' and…"

"Oh my…"

"Herbert?"

He couldn't believe his ears. Surely it had to be coincidence. "Sorry, my boy. Do continue."

"Yes, well, this Doctor was the one who told us everything. He also saved us from the real invaders. He had this large, blue box…"

"Blue…box…?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Orson, this is too much of a coincidence…"

"What is, Herbert? What is it?"

"This man, the Doctor… I believe that I have met him too!"

Now Orson was the one in disbelief. "What? How? When? Where?"

"It was in Scotland, back in, oh must have been 1885 that I met the Doctor," said Herbert.

"1885? Impossible, he couldn't have been more than forty when I met him. How do you know it's the same man?"

"It must have been. Age doesn't matter with him. I don't think that he is of this world."

"You mean… He's an alien?" asked Orson.

"I believe so. He travelled in a large, blue box with an American girl named Peri…"

"That's odd," said Orson. "When I met him, he was with a British girl named Charley."

"Perhaps he even outlives his closest friends. I've never told anyone of this before, Orson, it's a remarkable coincidence that it happened to us both!" Herbert exclaimed. He looked away, remembering deeply buried memories. "He took me to another world. I stood upon lands where no man had been prior. I can tell no one of what happened, yet I shall never forget it."

"Hold on there, Hebert," said Orson. "It's still possible that it wasn't the same man."

"He had knowledge beyond this world, yes?"

"Well, yes…"

"Definitely the same man."

"Wait, wait… What did he look like?"

"Well, he was a big bloke. Long, curly, blonde hair. Most unusual outfit. All multicoloured and garish."

"There, you see. The Doctor I met was a thin fellow. Long, dark brown hair. And he was definitely _not_ garishly dressed, although a little unusually; a Victorian-style costume."

"It could still be the same man, Orson. He's stranger than we could ever imagine. Or, I suppose they could be father and son, passing on the family title, or some other such explanation. You cannot deny that they are connected."

"It is an amazing coincidence… Listen, I've got some connections at Radio KTSA here in San Antonio. I was going to suggest earlier that we should go on the air and talk about _The War of the Worlds_, but now I'm thinking that maybe we should change our topic. The world needs to hear this. I never thought that anyone would believe me either, but if there's two of us…"

"Excuse me," said a voice. Both men looked up to see that the man in the black jacket, who had previously been sitting in the corner, was now standing beside their table.

They now saw that the jacket he wore was made of leather, like a sailor's, and that he wore a dark blue jumper underneath. His dark hair was cut very short and his ears were noticeably large. He had a wide grin on his face.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," said the stranger. He spoke in a Northern English accent.

"I beg your pardon," said Orson.

"Mr. Welles," he nodded at Orson, "and Mr. Wells," he nodded at Herbert, thoroughly amused by the names. "I'm a big fan of all your stuff, Mr. Wells. My favourite's _The Time Machine_, though funnily enough it took me ages to read it. I'm a big fan of yours too, Mr. Welles. Remember what I told you; don't let them cut _The Magnificent Ambersons_."

"That's very kind of you, young man," said Herbert. "How can we help you?"

"Oh, don't let me bother you. I just wanted to see you both again in the same place at the same time, without any annoying technobabble. Mr. Wells, well done for, well, everything. Mr. Welles, good luck for the future. Well, well, well, Wells and Welles, I'll be off now. All's Wells that ends Welles. Sorry, I'd better leave before any more puns. Cheerio. Remember Orson – _Ambersons_!"

And with that, he disappeared out the door.

"Did you-?" Herbert asked, confused.

Orson was deep in thought. "_Ambersons_," he said. "The Doctor… Back in '38, he said something about a movie called _The Magnificent Ambersons_ too… But I haven't made a film with that name…"

"Not yet…" said Herbert, coming to a realisation.

"You don't think…"

Both men suddenly made for the door. Orson casually threw down some cash for the bill.

They burst outside, but there was no trace of the stranger. A grinding, thrumming sound could be heard coming from beside the diner. They quickly dashed over to look down the alley alongside the diner, only to see a vague, blue, box-shaped phantom disappear.

"That was him, wasn't it?" said Orson eventually.

Herbert nodded. "He's changed again."

"If, indeed, it _is_ the same man each time."

"'There are stranger things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

A small smile appeared on Orson's face. "It's funny… The Doctor quoted Shakespeare too, but I didn't recognise it at the time…"

"Perhaps he was right, Orson. Maybe we should keep it too ourselves."

"You still interested in doing the radio show?"

Herbert turned to face his young and newfound friend with a smile. "Absolutely, my boy. You and I have both had experiences unrivalled by anything that anyone has gone through before. We are unique. We've both met a man from beyond the stars, from beyond _tomorrow_, and he has shown us things far beyond our understanding. He has saved this world, perhaps on numerous occasions, from menaces we could have no hope of repelling on our own. We cannot allow ourselves to dwell on the memories, no matter how special they were. We must move on, but at the same time, we cannot forget the Doctor or what he has shown us."

They both started walking down the street slowly.

"You know, Herb," said Orson, "this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship…"

**

* * *

Continuity Notes: The Sixth Doctor met H.G. Wells in the TV episode _Timelash_ and the Eighth Doctor met Orson Welles in the audio episode _Invaders From Mars_.**The Sixth Doctor met H.G. Wells in the TV episode and the Eighth Doctor met Orson Welles in the audio episode . 

**Trailer: **I'm currently working on another _Doctor Who_ crossover. I shan't reveal with what just yet, but keep your eyes peeled.


End file.
